“How can we live in a sandcastle?” He’s not that drunk, but he’s seen Steve work small miracles and he wouldn’t be surprised at all if the blond was capable of building a house out of sand for them to live in. If Steve wants to visit New England, they can do that, Tony has already decided, one hand still in the other man’s back pocket and the other slowly moving up his chest and all too broad shoulder.

They probably won’t get to Maine or Cape Cod. There probably will be no sandcastles. They have never lived normal lives and they likely will not do so in the future.

It just makes Tony endlessly charmed that after all of this, Steve is still probably looking for the American Dream. Picketed fence, two point five kids, a dog—

Tony had dreamed of children too. He’d lost a child, sort of, but he’d also wanted a family of his own. The crazy grin dissolved into a tired smile. “The moment we have time, we’ll go to the beach and you can build me sandcastles— We can do anything you want,” he promises, leaning up to kiss the man that has thus far proven himself to be an endless well of affection. “But now, you’re going to book us a room and order room service and I’m going to get supplies.”

He doesn’t have to go far. There’s a gift shop at the other end of the lobby specializing in everything from flip flops and sun hats to condoms and lube.